The Long Road
by DOJ
Summary: An AU fic focused on the first three students at the Institute. (I'm really no good with summaries) Takes a look into Kurt's past, and the meetings of Scott and Jean. Chapter 9 is up! -ON HOLD-
1. The Beginnings

Konnichiwa~ This is DOJ and here is my very first AU fic! It will mainly focus on Scott, Jean, and Kurt for now, but will eventually have more of the other characters later, just to give my idea of what they're life was like growing up. I've only seen the first and second season of Evo, yes. . .the third season should have started today but they're playing the 1st and 2nd again for about the hundredth time (not that I'm complaining. . . but when is Japan's cartoon network going to get up to date?) so I may be missing a lot on their backgrounds.  
  
Disclaimer: I, sadly enough, do not own any of the Marvel characters. . . though I would love to own Scott ;) and many of these ideas came from reading other AU fics such as Optic Red's "Engraved in Pink" (so go read it!!!) But the majority of it is what I've managed to pick up about the characters' pasts from other fics, incorporated with my own ideas.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The boy sat huddled in the dank alleyway, his knees pulled into his chest, his hands pressed firmly over his eyes, his body trembling as sobs caught in his throat. A dull buzzing filled his head as weights pushed out on every side of his head causing his temple to throb. He took a chance, peeling open his burning eyelids only to find himself staring into the dim red mist. The pain was temporarily relieved as the trashcan before him went sailing into the brick wall, pushed by the force of his gaze. He clamped his hands over his eyes again, instantly sending the soaring pain back to his tormented head. "What's happening to me?" He gasped into the darkness, but for once in his life, there was no one to hear him cry.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The girl's silky red hair fanned out on the stark-white pillow, bringing brightness to the hospital room darkened from worries and tears. Doctor after doctor had bent over this same girl, puzzled by her consistent state. In the two years the darling child had slept in the comatose state, she had neither improved nor worsened. Though every employee in the children's ward had grown to love the child, her current doctor began to believe he would be forced to give her parents a choice: either leave their daughter plugged to the machines, most likely continuing her life as a vegetable, or to pull the plug and let their sweet daughter slip off peacefully into an everlasting sleep. It was not a discussion he fancied having with the intolerable Greys, but they had another daughter to think of, it was time to let this one go.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The small boy stared impatiently at the clock, 'It's got to be broken,' he thought. 'I svear, it has been five minutes since that hand last moved!'  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. Wagner, but would you mind sharing your superior intellect with the rest of the class?"  
  
The majority of the class snickered as the boy blushed deeply under his hooded jacket and face mask. "Uh, sorry, vhat vas the question?"  
  
His teacher, Brian Hayman, sighed, "What is the chemical that causes the green pigment in plants?"  
  
"Uh, photosynthesis?" the boy offered hopefully.  
  
He knew he was wrong, however, when a hand shot up in front of him. Halie May's golden-curls spilled over her shoulder as she bounced anxiously in her chair, silently pleading the teacher to call on her.  
  
"Yes, Miss May?"  
  
"The answer is chlorophyll. Photosynthesis is the process in which plants obtain light and water to use for food and then produce oxygen." The curly- haired girl smiled smugly.  
  
A bell rang out twice in the distance, signaling the end of the school day. Kids cheered, gathering their scattered backpacks, and shoved past the heavily clothed boy as he slowly rose from his chair. "Outta mah way, freak!" A burly ten-year-old knocked him to the floor. Bystanders froze as the boy unthinkingly shot out his gloved hand, grasped the bigger boy's foot, and pulled him to the floor. Was this scrawny, greatly covered, freak of a kid actually planning on fighting Fritz Rhermann?  
  
Fritz rose to his feet in a state of livid rage. Hoisting the smaller boy up by the shoulders of his thick jacket, he steadily sent a blow to the unfortunate boy's face, his knuckles making a smooth connection, amalgamating with the kid's cheek. "I'll teach you to mess with me," a malicious glint flickered in his eyes, "Let's see what you're hiding under all those clothes."  
  
More students gathered in the hall out of curiosity. No one knew why the boy always wore such heavy clothing, and now that they were about to find out, no one felt like being the good Samaritan and ending the mismatched fight.  
  
"Wh-what are you?" Fritz had peeled of the boy's gloves and mask and was now backing away in horror.  
  
The downtrodden boy stood there in shame as tears collected in his colorless eyes and spilled down his fuzzy blue face which he held cupped in his six fingers.  
  
"Freak! Monster!" The kids screamed as they ran down the hallways, causing confused teachers to burst out of their classrooms. "Oh, bitte! Heiliger Vater im Himmel! Save me from this torture!" He closed his eyes, blocking out the image of terrified students. A strange sound rang out and the boy felt as though his body were being torn in two. As the strange sensation faded away, he opened his eyes to find himself standing in front of his two, very startled, adoptive parents.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Miles away, in his New York mansion, a bald man's visage contorted in his sleep as he writhed in his twisted sheets. Rough hands shook his shoulders as a fright stricken voice cried, "Charles! Wake up!"  
  
The man instantly sat up, his eyes growing accustomed to the moonlit room. Hi soft brown eyes shifted between the two occupants of the room; a short man with wild brown hair, chisled face, hardened eyes, and a sharp metallic knives protruding out between each finger, stood in the corner while a dark- skinned Kenyan woman with snow-white satin hair and lightening sparks crackeling around her worried face, shifted uneasily on the balls of her feet.  
  
"Charles?"  
  
"Logan, Ororo, I think it may be time to give Cerebro another try."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
That's the first chapter! I've already got the second one written so I'll be posting that soon~ But before I write the third one I need you to tell me this; should Scott already have his glasses when Jean is brought to the Institute, or not? It's up to you! Please review!!! (hehe it rhymes!) 


	2. Shattered Dreams

Sorry all, I had to change the title of my story because it ends up I stole it from Jen1703 (I KNEW it sounded familiar . . . and thanks to Optic Red for pointing that out) So, many apologies to Jen1703, many thanks to Optic Red, and to all of you who reviewed!  
  
It's been 8 or so years since I lived in Germany, so my German isn't all that great any more. If any of you more competent readers can correct Kurt's lines, please feel free to do so in your reviews, thanks!  
  
"blah blah" is talking 'blah blah' is thinking *blah blah* is thought-speak  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The three adults (Charles, Logan, and Ororo) gathered in the cramped alleyway just as a light mist began to fall.  
  
Crouched in his enclave where the two buildings met, a small boy with grimy tape wrapped around his head shivered with the cold and began to whimper ever so slightly.  
  
"Storm?" Logan nodded to a pile of dirty rags piled adjacently from the boy's corner.  
  
Ororo gave an inquiring look to Charles who nodded in return. Turning back towards the flammable waste, her eyes flamed white and thunder rolled above her head. Gesturing to the rags with a commanding nod, a jagged bold of lightening reached out with its fiery fingers, caressing the cloths as flames engulfed the filthy pile.  
  
In his sleep the boy rolled over, embracing the fire's warmth. But as the aroma of smoke wafted over him, the boy's expression darkened and Charles could feel him go spiraling into a haunting dream.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Rolling over in bed, the acrid smell of smoke stung the young boy's nose, filling his soft brown eyes with hot tears. Across the cabin he could make out the blurry form of his mother gently shaking his younger brother.  
  
"Alex, sweetie, Mommy needs you to wake up." Her velvet voice was lined with worry as she pleaded.  
  
"Mom?" She whirled around, wiping tears from her tired eyes as her older son rose from his caught. "Mom, what's going on?"  
  
"Oh, Scott, sweetheart. . ." her voice broke as her son approached, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his head in her chest. She rocked back and forth, clutching him to her, finally kissing his voluminous brown hair as she broke away, placing both hands on his shoulders. "Honey, Mommy needs you and Alex to put on your jackets and these backpacks, okay?"  
  
"Why? Are we landing? Mom, why are you crying? What's wrong?" But his mother just glared meaningfully at him and walked back to the cockpit.  
  
Two minutes later, an anxious Scott and half-asleep Alex stood by the cabin door as their mother kissed both their cheeks. "Boys, we're having a bit of trouble with the plane," Katherine Summers choked back tears.  
  
"But Daddy can fix it, right? Daddy can fix anything." Alex spoke in confident pride.  
  
In spite of her tears, Katherine had to smile. "No, sweetie, Daddy can't fix it. Now, I need you two to be brave, okay? Scott, I need you to be a big boy and take care of your little brother. . ." she trailed off as her husband unlatched the cabin door. "Promise me you'll take care of him?"  
  
"No! I'm not going without you and Dad!" Scott shouted defiantly.  
  
"Scott, please," his mother pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "Daddy and I will be alright. Just go!"  
  
"No, no!" Tears were now swelling in Scott's eyes as well.  
  
"Scott," his father knelt down beside the 10-year-old boy. "Your mother and I both love you very much, but we need you to do this, take care of Alex, be a good big brother. Can you do that?"  
  
Scott nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks.  
  
"Okay, now count to ten before opening the chutes, alright?"  
  
Scott clasped Alex's hand as the two fell spiraling in dizzy circles through the dark sky. Scott looked up one more time at the plane, his parents entwined in each others' arms as flames shot out of the tail.  
  
"Mommy, Daddy, I love you!" He screamed as he pulled the cord on his parachute. "Alex! Pull your cord!" But it was too late; Scott had pulled his sooner than his brother and soon the blonde-haired, ruddy-cheeked boy's hand was wrenched from his grasp. Scott's scream was torn from his lungs as he tumbled into the icy darkness below.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Waking from the horrid memory, Scott could still feel heat and smell the rising smoke of a fire. Hearing thunder crack through the sky, he remembered the pile of rags that had been left in the crescent adjacent from him. "Lighting," he muttered to himself.  
  
"That was no ordinary lightening, Scott Summers." A friendly voice emitted from the darkness.  
  
"Who are you? What do you want?"  
  
"I am Charles Xavier and these are my associates Ororo Monroe and Logan. We want to help you."  
  
Underneath his bandages, Scott's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Life on the streets had hardened him, teaching him not to be overly trustful. People didn't give out favors without expecting things in return. No one wanted to willingly help a measly little kid. "Why would you want to help me?"  
  
"Because we can," a feminine voice spoke up.  
  
'That must be Ororo,' Scott thought. The voice sounded so kind, so soothing, but not enough so that he let his guard down. "Even if you could, you wouldn't want to help a kid like me."  
  
"Why not?" Another deeper, gruffer voice came out sounding amused.  
  
"Because, Logan," Scott started pointedly.  
  
"Smart kid," Logan murmured.  
  
"I'm not a normal kid. I'm a thief and a, I'm a. . ."  
  
"A freak?" Charles asked quietly. When Scott didn't reply, Charles continued, "You're not a freak, Scott, you're gifted."  
  
He snorted, "What I've got is no gift."  
  
*I wouldn't be too sure about that,* the kind voice echoed inside his head.  
  
"How'd you do that? Voice projection lessons or something?" Scott was half curious and half terrified.  
  
*This is no voice projection, it is my gift.*  
  
"Y-you mean you can read my thoughts?"  
  
"Only if you let me?"  
  
"I can block you out?"  
  
"Would you like to learn?"  
  
Scott hesitated, the man sounded so nice, yet how did Scott really know that he was safe? 'Safe? You think living on the streets is safe?' he thought to himself.  
  
"You don't need to be afraid, Scott, though that is understandable. . ."  
  
"I'm not afraid!" He spoke in such a tone that Logan had to fake a cough in order to cover up his laughter.  
  
"We can help you. I have a school in New York, a school for gifted youngsters, mutants, like yourself."  
  
"Mutants?"  
  
"People who have evolved and acquired unique gifts, powers. Ororo, here, can control the weather; she created the lightening that ignited the rags beside you." As if to annunciate this, a roll of thunder sang out through the air. "Logan has impressive healing powers that make him almost immortal, as well as metal claws that extend from his hands." The professor paused, before continuing. "If you agree to join us, we can teach you not only to control your own power but also to block your mind to other mutants, and, of course, undergoing physical training."  
  
"Whaddaya say, kid?" Logan broke in, "Give it a shot?"  
  
'It can't be as bad as here,' he thought. "All right, I'll give it a try."  
  
Xavier smiled as the boy shakily rose to his feet. "Once we arrive at the mansion, I'll speak to one of my colleagues about seeing to getting you someway to control that vision of yours." And with that, Ororo helped guide Scott onto the X-jet, Xavier and Logan following closely behind.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
"Mr. Grey, you have to understand, Charles Xavier is a highly respected doctor, far more superior in comatose cases than any of the doctors here."  
  
"So just how much is this going to cost me? I'm not paying extra for some kook to misjudge my daughter again! And I am not paying for him to rekindle my wife's hopes only to have them dashed once more!" John Grey shouted, causing several other patients to look up, startled.  
  
"Mr. Grey, do you want your daughter to live in a state other than that of a vegetable?"  
  
The tall man looked flustered by the doctor's blunt tactlessness. "Yes, of course."  
  
"Then I suggest you give this man a try, regardless of the cost."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The sweet scent of heavily perfumed incense drifted throughout the empty cathedral as a stocky friar extinguished the many candles.  
  
"Was ist das?!" He exclaimed as he came across a track of damp footprints trailing on the marble floor. The normal churchgoers and ritual evening worshippers had long since retired home. Could a lost soul have traveled in, seeking sanctuary from the outside cold? The friar wrinkled his nose in disgust, though he would never turn out an especially weary traveler without first giving him time to warm himself, the avid worshipper would never tolerate a common thief running from the law.  
  
Approaching the end of the footprints, the friar froze. Before the floor to ceiling oil painting of the mother Mary, surrounded by intricately carved alabaster cherubim, and illuminated by two lit memorial candles, knelt a hunched figure, head bent in prayer.  
  
Kurt Wagner's lips moved slowly, emitting no sound as his fingers deftly moved over his simple mahogany rosary. Sensing another's presence, he stopped mid-prayer, shifted his weight, and lifted his tear-filled eyes to meet the friar's startled gray ones.  
  
"Kurt?"  
  
"Entschuldigen, Vater. I didn't mean to disturb your vork. Vould you like me to leave?"  
  
"Nein. The House of God never closes. Stay as long as you like."  
  
"Danke schun, Vater."  
  
The old man smiled at the young parishioner. "Bitte schun, Kurt, bitte schun.  
  
As the friar retreated into the darkness of the chapel, Kurt turned back to Mary's ever watchful eyes. Before the friar had interrupted his thoughts, Kurt had been praying for his Mother and Father, his biological parents, the ones who hadn't wanted him. He didn't blame them; after all, they had a freak for a son, most people would have been glad to be rid of him.  
  
'But not all people,' a nagging thought rang through his mind. Kurt sighed and silently agreed. Someone had wanted him; his adoptive parents had found a way to love him despite his frightening appearance. Though he loved the Wagners and was grateful for their support and devotion, Kurt couldn't help wondering who his real parents were. Was he really so hideous that he'd caused his parents to give up their own child? Or was there something else involved? Had they been forced to leave their son behind? To abandon him without even knowing if he would survive? Had their case been similar to that of Moses' mother when she gave up Moses? (A/N: Does anyone know what his mother's name was? None of the bibles I've read give her name.) It was the unanswered inquiries like these that drove Kurt to the Cathedral; that drove him to God. The Wagners had brought him up to be a devote Catholic, so he often sought refuge in God, praying for the safe keeping of his biological mother and father. Hoping beyond the most improbable hope that someday they may be reunited.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Silky hair danced across the pillow's white state as the young girl's body trembled and shook with another one of her spasms. A passing nurse caught sight of the quaking girl and hastily cried out, "D-dr. Xavier! Come quick!"  
  
Moments later, a bald man pulled up in his silver wheelchair. "Nurse Amber, what seems to be the problem?"  
  
"It's Jean, she's having another seizure."  
  
"All right, I'll see to her. Please see to it that no one else enters the room unless on my call, understood?"  
  
Though it struck her as odd that the doctor wanted no extra assistance, Amber only nodded her head obligingly, shutting the door behind Xavier.  
  
Sighing, Charles Xavier turned to face the chaotic room. Objects were rattling in their places while the girl's bed shook with tremendous force.  
  
Placing his hands near her pulsating temples, Charles inhaled deeply, speaking into Jean's mind, *Hello, little one.*  
  
The girl's body tensed, pausing in its vibrating madness.  
  
*Do not be afraid, little one, I'm here to help you.* The soothing voice clamed Jean's frazzled nerves and she slowly began to relax, allowing the shaking objects to slow to a rest. *That's right, just calm down. No one is going to harm you.*  
  
But as jean relaxed, as she let her guard down, her mind was stampeded by a rush of thoughts that were not her own. Her body began to writhe as her mind was torn by the pain of the many voices. *Stop! Please, make the voices stop! There are so many!*  
  
*Jean,* the raise of panic in the man's voice was highly audible as surgical objects flew passed his head. *Jean, I need you to concentrate. Can you do that? Concentrate on my voice.*  
  
*I, I'll try,* she murmured weakly. The soothing voice, he kept speaking to her, and as he spoke she tuned out the other voices, concentrating only on his and her own.  
  
As the ruckus in her head dimmed, Jean could feel a grin break across her face. But in all her excitement, Jean was unable to tell that the grin had not come from herself, no, it had come from the open link in her mind.  
  
*Very good, now, let's say we get you out of here, all right?*  
  
Jean's bubbling pleasure was clearly emitted from her thoughts as she joyously agreed, allowing the man to pull her out of her ever deepening sleep.  
  
************************************************************************ 


	3. Don't Forget the Kiyai

A/N: This is a fairly short and boring chapter, many apologies, but know that I am working up to something . . . I think. . . Anyways, later in the chapter they talk about a "kiyai". For those of you who have never studied martial arts (at least not in Japan) a kiyai is what you yell when you punch or kick. Each person has their own kiyai, for example, my friend, Scott, and I all yell "Ya!", while another person may yell "Sa!" or whatever. Enjoy!  
  
"blah blah" is talking 'blah blah' is thinking *blah blah* is thought-speak  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Buzzing silence filled Scott's ears as he stood, prepared in stance, ready to fight. The room, it was filled with a deadly silence, and it was wearing Scott's patience thin. 'C'mon, c'mon!' he chanted rhythmically in his head, bouncing on the balls of his feet - the feet that were standing, bare, on the cold metal ground. Just as Scott was about to scream with annoyed apprehension, he heard it. The soft whir of the cushioned sandbag as it sped forward. 'Patience, patience, Scott,' he spoke to himself, preventing himself from leaving the ground too early. As the dim whir progressed into a muffled roar that only the most trained ears could detect, Scott pushed himself off the ground, accelerating into the air, spinning his foot with a deadly kick. "Ya!" he yelled as he smacked the bag with tremendous force, sending it spiraling backwards.  
  
"Yes!" he pumped his fist in the air then dropped his body to the ground, the swinging sandbag narrowly missing his unprotected head. Jumping deftly to his feet, Scott sent a roundhouse kick to the face of the bag, followed by a series of furious punches.  
  
*All right, Scott, that's enough for today,* the Professor projected into his mind, allowing the boy to sink to the Danger Room floor in exhaustion. Ever since he'd come to the Institute, Scott had been put through a series of rough, physical training in order to help enable him to fight without using sight. The Professor had been unable to create a way to contain Scott's optic blasts so far, though he was not without hope. But until then, the Professor was adamant that Scott learn to fight without using his vision.  
  
Scott was grateful for the man's obstinacy, but even more so for his generous hospitality. When Scott first arrived, Xavier had led him to a bedroom, bigger than any he could ever remember having, and had directed Scott to the bathroom where he was allowed to take his first shower since living on the streets. After he had felt the indescribable bliss of being clean, Ororo had peeled the grimy bandage off his eyes, gently scrubbed his face clean, and had replaced it with a new, uncontaminated bandage. They had then had Scott measured for some "typical teenage guy clothes" and afterwards he was allowed supper and to retire to his room. Scott couldn't remember a time when he had felt such treatment! Throughout dinner the Professor had explained the intense training he would undergo and had revealed to Scott his plans on filling the Institute with more "gifted children."  
  
Since that first night at the mansion, Scott had grown accustomed to its occupants and their many ways. He knew never to sneak up on Logan, never to disturb Ororo when she was tending her garden, and never to bother the Professor while working on Cerebro. In short, Scott was beginning to feel more and more at home at the Institute. Though he still never let his guard down, let he be taken by surprise, he was discovering it harder and harder to find reasons to keep his guard up. Ororo was nothing but kind to him and though Professor Xavier pushed him, he was never anything but supportive of Scott and his accomplishment. Logan was the only one who was ever short or gruff with Scott, but that was just the man's nature. At times, Scott even preferred Logan's coolness to the others' bubbling benevolence.  
  
Dragging himself to his bedroom, Scott collapsed exhaustedly on his bed. The bandage was heavy against his closed eyes. How he wished he could take it off, just for a minute! To be allowed to see for a few brief moments! But Scott was uncertain if he would ever be given that luxury again. Forcing his mind away from his hopefully temporary blindness, Scott went over what Logan had taught him that morning. "Don't forget you're kiyai when you punch or kick," Logan had said, "it may seem silly, but it helps to push you harder, to put more of an emphasis on the impact." And then he had demonstrated a kick with and without the kiyai and insisted Scott do the same. Lazily recalling the afternoon's training, Scott drifted off thinking about how much he would love to kiyai while sending a particularly strong blow to Logan's face . . .  
  
************************************************************************ 


	4. Voices

A/N: Not much to say, except, the only thing I know about the characters' pasts is from the first 2 seasons of x-men evolution and what I've read in other peoples fanfics, so this is all from my imagination, it's not factual. Anyways, here we are, more on Jean, and I think maybe some on Lance next chapter~~  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The warm yellow colors of the kitchen walls swirled in dizzy circles before Jean Grey's eyes. Her flannel nightgown clung to her dampened legs as they nervously kicked back and forth on the rung of her stool. Her bed-rumpled hair was plastered against her pasty face. Her tired green eyes darted back and forth between her tow parents as the watched her munch on the sugar-free bran cereal.  
  
Swallowing her last bite, Jean timidly rose from her seat, carrying her cereal bowl to the sink.  
  
"Oh, honey, don't worry about that!" her mother gently removed the bowl from Jean's hands and began washing it out with the warm, sudsy water. She gestured towards the door, "Why don't you go take a nice hot shower? I laid some clothes out for you on your bed . . ."  
  
Jean nodded obligingly, threw a fleeting glance to her father's concerned face, and meandered out of the room.  
  
John Grey sighed, "Elaine, you're going to have to let Jeannie handle things for herself. She's not going to get any better if you do everything for her."  
  
"I know that!" Elaine snapped, placing the rinsed bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. "But she hasn't gotten her strength back yet, and, well, I just thought I'd help her along until she does."  
  
"Darling, I know you mean well, but she's been out for two years, she won't get any better if you don't let her pick up her life where she left off."  
  
"I know, John, I know. It's just, so hard." Elaine collapsed into her husband's arms, staring absently at the picture of a giggling five-year-old Jean taped on the old-fashioned fridge. "I'm just so worried about her . . ."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Steam clouded the bathroom mirror as tears clouded Jean's eyes. Ever since she had left the hospital, her headaches had gotten worse, and though she was reluctant to reveal it to her parents, Jean had begun hearing the voices again. As far as she was concerned, she had spent enough time away from home already and she was not going to spend the rest of her life in the psychiatric ward of some sanitarium; she would just have to force the voices from her mind.  
  
But as Jean stepped into the shower, she realized that what she was hearing were no ordinary voices.  
  
*John's probably right, I shouldn't be worrying about Jean so much.*  
  
"Mom?" Jean whispered, shivering despite the hot water that cascaded down her pale body.  
  
There was no reply, only the soft sound of the buzzing fan and the crystal water droplets as the chased each other to the shower drain. Shaking her long, red mane, Jean began to lather herself with the plumeria soap, only to freeze in her place as her father swore loudly.  
  
*Xavier will be here any minute! Where are the girls?*  
  
"Daddy, I'm up here! In the shower!" Jean cried shakily.  
  
But again, no response came. Hastily rinsing off, Jean hopped out of the shower and tore to her room, throwing on her mother's choice of clothes without complaint. "I am not hearing voice, I'm not hearing voices, I AM NOT HEARING VOICES!"  
  
"Jean?" There was a knock on her bedroom door, "Honey, is everything all right?"  
  
Jean swallowed the lump in her throat, "Yes, mom, everything's fine."  
  
"Alright, when you're ready, will you come downstairs? There is someone your father and I would like you to meet."  
  
"I'll be down in a few minutes," though she answered without emotion, Jean could already feel her stomach tying itself in knots.  
  
************************************************************************ 


	5. Problems Arise

A/N: I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that this chapter is all completely from my imagination. I have no idea what Lance's life was like before he came to Bayville, other than that he eventually attended a foster home in Northbrook, going to the same school as Kitty. I also don't completely know how Jean fell into a coma; this is just what I imagined to have happened. Hope you like it~  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Lance had been moved around enough to know that what happened in this next home wouldn't matter. Why make friends in Connecticut when you're only going to be moved to Iowa next month?  
  
"Now, the Kazowskies were nice enough to take you in on such short notice," Lance Alvers' social worker droned on as Lance stared out his rain-soaked window, counting the raindrops as the ran passed his bored face. ". . .so, Lance? Try not to blow anything up this time."  
  
"What?!? Mr. Sanchez, that's not fair! It's not like I meant to blow the kitchen up! I was just trying to help Kyle with his volcano and the kid added in too much vinegar . . ."  
  
Mr. Sanchez sighed, "I know that Lance, but the Martins didn't see it that way."  
  
Lance gave up counting the rain and slumped down in his seat. "Sure, blame the foster kid." He mumbled.  
  
"Lance. . ." Mr. Sanchez started.  
  
But the 12-year-old wouldn't listen. "Our kid would never do anything wrong, it must be that Alvers kid."  
  
"Lance, I'm sure it wasn't like that."  
  
"Of course not, they just decided to throw me out after KYLE blew up the kitchen."  
  
Mr. Sanchez threw his hands up in exasperation, almost colliding with the Toyota in the next lane. Pulling the beat up Chevy into its rightful lane, Mr. Sanchez flicked his eyes back to the sulking kid. "Lance, I know it wasn't your fault. If it makes you feel any better, Mr. Martins had just been transferred to Florida and he thought it would be hard enough to move the family - without the added addition of a foster child. The kitchen incident just pushed him over the edge. So please, try to behave at the Kazowskies."  
  
Lance just nodded meekly and returned to his ritual of staring out the dirty window. He would try to behave, he really would, but for some reason something always happened to turn the family against him. '6 more years, 6 more friggin years 'till I'm on my own. 6 more years 'till people stop treating me like a bomb waiting to go off, 'till kids stop feeling sorry for me, 'till people stop considering me to be a freak. . .' But little did Lance know that by the time he was 18, he'd be wishing that foster families were his only worries."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
"Mr. and Mrs. Grey, I don't mean to alarm you, and I certainly didn't come here to frighten you, but there is something about Jean that you must understand." Charles Xavier was sitting in the Grey's posh living room, sipping a cup of Earl Gray tea.  
  
"Is there something wrong with her, Professor?" Elaine gripped her china cup so tightly it almost broke in two.  
  
"There is nothing wrong with her, and please, it's Charles."  
  
"Then what is it that you need us to understand?"  
  
Charles lowered his glass, staring levelly at the anxious Greys. "This may come as quite a shock to you, but you're daughter, Jean, she's, well, she's not like other children." He paused, partly to grasp the right words and partly to gauge their reactions. "Jean has been blessed with a special gift. When she was born she received a dominant X gene, on that has not been completely visible until now."  
  
"And what, exactly, is this 'X gene'?" John was brimming with nervousness and curiosity, while his wife was simply radiating fear and distrust.  
  
"A normally recessible gene that, in certain cases, is sped forward by evolution. This gene enables its bearers with special gifts, or, in some cases, powers."  
  
"Powers?!" Elaine hiccupped, but Charles held up his hand, requesting silence.  
  
"During adolescence or at times of heightened emotion, these powers usually develop. In Jean's case, I believe the other doctors mentioned she witnessed her friend's death?"  
  
"Yes," John answered slowly, "in a car accident. That's when she slipped into a coma."  
  
"I see, well, this may be why she slipped into a coma, I have a theory, but I will have to ask you to refrain from speaking until I'm through."  
  
As Elaine began to protest, John interrupted, "We understand, please continue."  
  
"As Jean witnessed the accident, she went through a state of panic which caused her hormones to race forwards and the X gene to kick in. In her case, she was blessed with a gift of mental telepathy. Her mind bonded with her friend's, and has her friend passed away, closing her mind, a bit of Jean's mind felt like she was dying, but instead of her whole body shutting down, she fell into a coma. A weaker person may not have survived such pressure."  
  
A tense silence filled the room, and Professor Xavier carefully observed the Greys' reactions. For a moment he began to believe that everything may actually work out, they didn't seem to be taking this too hard, but his hopes were instantly shattered as Elaine Grey shot to her feet.  
  
"How dare you come into our home with these fiendish lies, worrying us about our baby's health and expecting us to believe this, this, story!"  
  
"Mrs. Grey, please, calm down-"  
  
"Calm down? Calm down! You expect me to calm down after you waltz in here, telling me my baby is a freak! No! I will not calm down, I have every right too-"  
  
"Elaine, please," John tried to grasp his wife's arm.  
  
"No, John! You don't actually believe him, do you? He's lying to us! Making up stories about our Jean!" Elaine was hysterical, red in the face, screaming at the men in the room. They continuously tried to calm her down, but to no avail. She refused to sit down, refused to stop her continuous yelling, until an anxious voice called from the doorway.  
  
"Mommy? What's wrong?"  
  
The three adults turned in a stunned silence, to face a bewildered Jean.  
  
************************************************************************ 


	6. The Wandering Minds

A/N: A short chapter, sorry, my muse has left me . . . CARTOON NETWORK IS NO LONGER PLAYING X-MEN EVOLUTION IN JAPAN!!! I'm so mad!!! Ahem, but anyways, here's your chapter~~  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Jean sat on her flowered bedspread, wallowing in her own self-pity. Her parents were sending her away, sending her to that school for freaks; sure, it was just for a trial basis, but the fact that her own parents were sending her away crushed her heart into thousands of brittle splinters. "They don't love me anymore," 


	7. Illusions

A/N: Here we are, the next chapter~~ We have (as LadyDeathStrike1 requested) more Kurt, as well as the meeting of Jean and Scott (in reply to Optic Red's and aimtbj's requests) Thanks for all the reviews!!! They are what keep this story going~~  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Rain pattered on the farmhouse roof as lightening flashed in the bedroom window. The fuzzy blue mutant sighed, staring longingly out the window and at the torrential rains. It had been almost as week since he'd last been allowed outside. His adoptive parents had withdrawn him from Ostseite Grundlegend (A/N: I have no clue what school Kurt attended, so I have dubbed it East Side Elementary) and had insisted he remain indoors "until things calmed down." Shortly afterwards, the rains came, confining Kurt in his lonely prison.  
  
How he longed to be outside! To feel the rain beat upon his tired face, to frolic in the mud like a young toddler! Kurt had spent the past eight years growing up on a farm, rarely staying indoors long enough to learn the color of his bedroom walls! Well, he knew his walls now, every crack, every corner, every smudge of smeared paint; he knew it so well he was physically ill from the knowledge.  
  
"Cruel and unusual punishment, zat's vhat zis is," he muttered as lightening flashed again. Crossing to the opposite wall, Kurt gently opened the window, allowing the sounds of the storm to echo within his walls. "Zat's better," he sighed, almost contentedly, as he lay back down on his cozy bed, closing his yes and inhaling the sweet, succulent scent of rain.  
  
'Ah, to be outside,' his mind roamed, tracing over the image of the farm that had imprinted itself in his brain. He could see it all so clearly; the stream rising with the heavy rains, grazing pastures soaking in the much-needed rain, the livestock huddled for warmth in the old barn, the bar itself – shingles flying from the roof as the rain and wind deprived its wooden walls of their faded paint.  
  
As he traveled over the land in his mind's eye, a distinct smell of sulfur wafted in with the sweet rain. Kurt felt himself sink into the deep muddy ground as raindrops pounded his closed lids, causing him to pry his eyes open in astonishment. Gazing around at the open land surrounding him, Kurt shivered in the German rain, but not from the cold, from a secret he could feel rising within him, dying to be revealed.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The 14-year-old boy fidgeted in his freshly ironed clothes, the starched bandage stiff and uncomforting around his eyes. He didn't understand why he had to look so nice; this girl would be living with them, she'd be lucky to ever catch Scott in a collared, button-down shirt and corduroy pants again. In his opinion, they were giving her the wrong first impression, they were lying to her with their appearances, they may as well lie about their names and past lives while they were at it, just let her think she was at some fancy prep school. Underneath the confining bandage, Scott rolled his eyes with the last thought. He knew he was being cynical, but that was part of his nature, he may change his appearance but he would not change his personality to help east h move of some preppy girl.  
  
Hearing the familiar sound of the Professor's car gently crunching the gravelly driveway, Scott tensed in his chair. 'They're here already?' Hidden under his cool demeanor, the boy began to panic. It had been over eight years since he'd last met a civilized child of his own age, and though he'd spent the last few months behaving in a decorous manner before adults, he was beginning to feel the savage thief rising within him causing him to wonder if he was truly prepared to meet this girl.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
"We're here, little one," Professor Xavier turned in his seat, observing the frightened child. "Do not worry, you have nothing to fear," he motioned out the window as three forms appeared on the mansion's front steps. "It seems as though everyone is anxious to meet you."  
  
Jean nodded, yet she shrunk back in her seat. She did not wish to meet these strange people; she wanted her mother and father.  
  
The professor sighed, "I know it's hard, Jean, and we are not asking you to make up your mind yet. I know you want to be with your family, but let us give this a try, eh? If you don't like it we will certainly drive you home, we would not keep you here against your will."  
  
Nodding, her flaming hair cascaded in ripples down her back. Biting her lip, Jean reluctantly emerged from the car, pausing to take in the sight before her; a tall, dark-skinned woman with sleek snow-white hair stood regally between to men, her glowing smile – warm and welcoming – bestowed itself upon Jean. To her right stood a short, muscular man with hard chiseled features and a wolfish smile. His appearance frightened Jean but he was already projecting thoughts loud enough for Jean to tell that he wasn't all that harsh under his tough exterior. And to the African's left stood, well, you couldn't exactly call him a man nor a boy, but a male that appeared to be around her age, thought Jean could tell he had experienced more than most men would in their lifetimes. Out of the three interesting strangers, the boy intrigued her the most. His dark, shaggy hair hung over a stark-white bandage that appeared to be wrapped around his eyes. He stood in freshly pressed clothes that she was sure were not his own, with a fake smile plastered upon his face as thought it had been painted on by another.  
  
Jean was jarred out of her observant trance by the soothing sound of the professor's voice. "Jean, I would like you to meet the rest of the Institute's occupants. This is Logan," the small man bowed his head as the professor gesticulated in his direction.  
  
"How are ya?" He asked in a politer tone than was usual for him.  
  
"And to his left is Ororo Monroe,"  
  
"Welcome, Jean," the tall woman smiled warmly.  
  
"And lastly, this is Scott Summers."  
  
The boy nodded curtly and quickly uttered a rushed "hello" after inconspicuous prodding by Ororo and a disapproving glance from Logan.  
  
Jean smiled to herself as the boy's cheeks flamed in humiliation. She could tell by the snippets of thoughts filtering through her mind that she was the first girl to cross Scott's path in a great many years, but that was all Logan and Ororo would reveal, no other thoughts about the boy pushed into her mind and she was receiving no thoughts from the boy himself. Curious, she pushed her mind forward, into his, only to find herself forced back out. Brow furrowing in concentration, Jean tried again, only to feel similar resistance. 'He must have built a wall up around his mind . . . does he know I'm a telepath? Is he afraid of me?'  
  
*Professor?* Jean silently questioned, her curiosity overruling her caution. *Do they know I'm a telepath?*  
  
*I may have mentioned it once or twice, why? You have nothing to fret, my dear, they won't be frightened.*  
  
*No, it's not that, it's just, well, the other two are projecting thoughts, but there is nothing coming from Scott . . . *  
  
*Ah, yes, well, Scott has been learning to shield his mind from others. He has a fairly traumatic past, he may not be ready to share it with you yet.*  
  
Nodding, Jean cast one more furtive glance to the boy as the group began retreating into the mansion. An aura of mystery surrounded the boy and his appearance alone had aroused countless questions within her. Try as she might – and indeed, try she would – Jean wondered if she could ever possibly learn all the secrets of Scott Summers.  
  
************************************************************************ 


	8. Blinding Darkness

A/N: Many apologies to the delay of posting this chapter. I had a fairly busy week, but anyways, here it is~~ I'm not quite sure if the end of this chapter makes sense . . . so, once again, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Wind beat mercilessly at the mansion walls while rain lashed against the windows. Clouds that previously darkened German skies now hung their ominous shadows over New York, confining the Institute's few occupants indoors.  
  
A grumbling redhead trailed through the hallways, searching for a way to pass her time in this perpetual storm. In the short time she'd resided in the Institute, Jean had acquainted herself with most of the surroundings – preferring to spend more time outside where she was alone and left to her own devices, than relinquishing her short youth to the suffocating indoors. This storm, however, had dampened her plans. She'd begged Ororo time and time again to put a stop to the rain and bring out the long forgotten sun, but each time she received the same lecture; that nature should be left to on its own and that tampering with it would only alert the community to Bayville's hidden mutants.  
  
Shaking her head in disgust, she glanced about the darkened hallways, casting her mind around for ideas when a soft, flickering, dim glow caught in the corner of her eye. She recognized that light, the fuzzy blue light that could often be seen coming from under Sarah's door when she was in a particularly bad mood.  
  
Curious as to the occupant of the TV room, Jean inched towards the door, her eyes opening in surprise at the sight of a usually uptight teen slouched in an immersion of pillows, his bandage staring blankly at the laughing TV screen. A faint smile was etched on his normally scowling face, and much to Jean's surprise, he hadn't seemed to have noticed her presence.  
  
Taking advantage of the storm hiding her rustling movements, Jean slowly inched her way into the room, never taking her observant eyes of Scott's countenance. As the television audience broke into another round of uproarious laughter, Jean watched in amazement as Scott's stiff shoulders began to loosen, shaking with his mirth.  
  
Captivated by this change in the surly boy, jean stood deep in the shadows, her pajama clad back leaning against the nondescript wall. Part of her wanted to skip over and sit down next to Scott, sharing in his joy, but she was afraid that if she did he'd just revert back to his old self. Since the day she had arrived at the Institute, Scott and jean had exchanged few terse words. They were always polite, but never as friendly as jean wished them to be. When she'd first laid eyes on the mysterious boy, Jean had hoped she might find a friend within his contemptuous exterior. Now that she had the chance to get to know the boy, Jean was unsure of what to say. Fortunately, that decision was decided for her as a jagged bolt of lightening forked across the darkened sky, followed by a crash of thunder, and then the room was plummeted into a well of darkness.  
  
Letting out a shrill scream, Jean tripped over one of the many scattered books on the common room floor, sending her sprawling over the couch where Scott lay.  
  
Senses attuned by the sudden silence of the room, Scott tensed in his seat, swiveling his head around, searching for the source of the scream. He found what he was searching for seconds later as a faint whimpering escaped from the opposite side of the couch. Realization dawning on him, Scott cautiously questioned, "Jean?"  
  
"Y-yes?" came the tear-stained reply, her voice lined with guilt.  
  
"Jean, what's wrong?"  
  
Jean hesitated, not wanting to admit her fears to a boy she hardly knew, but as thunder clapped once more, she gave a frightened squeal and shifted over on the sofa, scampering closer to Scott. "The power went out, I-I'm sc-scared."  
  
Having dealt with a frightened Alex during storms in his past, Scott unthinkingly held out his arms, enveloping the trembling Jean. "Shh, relax," he murmured soothingly, noticeably out of character. "There's nothing to be afraid of,"  
  
*Scott, is everything all right?* The Professor broke into the boy's mind, a hint of panic edging his voice.  
  
*Yes, Professor, we're fine.*  
  
*I heard a scream?* It was more of a question than a statement.  
  
*That was jean, I think the loss of power frightened her.*  
  
*I see, Logan is attempting to put the power back online, will you two be okay in there until he does?*  
  
Scott felt Jean slowly begin to relax in his arms - he was surprised at how small she was, the way her voice always filled the room . . . well, he hadn't expected her to feel as though he could snap her limbs in two – he answered the Professor in a bewildered sort of voice, as though he had only just realized he was holding Jean. *Yeah, I think we will be fine.*  
  
Turning his attention back to Jean, Scott slowly asked, "You alright?"  
  
Suddenly conscious of the strong arms wrapped around her slim frame, jean awkwardly attempted to sit up. "Better, yes, thank you . . ." she favored him with an apologetic smile that was lost in the dark, "I, I'm sorry about all that. I just . . .don't like the dark very much."  
  
Scott withdrew his arms, allowing her to sit on her own. "I can relate to that," he murmured quietly, more to himself than to Jean.  
  
Unable to restrain herself, the normally reserved redhead reached out her hand, tracing her fingers along the corrugated bandage. "Why do you wear this?"  
  
Scott's hand shot out and gently pulled her wrist away from his eyes. He didn't like to admit it, but he was enjoying the contact, and that scared him. "For the same reason you have sessions with the Professor." From her silence, Scott sensed that he had confused the girl. "My powers, they," he paused, not sure if he wanted to discuss this intimate topic with a girl he barely knew, but something inside him willed him to go on, "you see, my eyes emit a deadly optic blast that I can't control."  
  
"Deadly?" her voice quivered.  
  
Scott nodded, "Strong enough to kill."  
  
An uncomfortable silence filled the dark room and Scott was beginning to fear he had scared Jean into a catatonic state when she suddenly turned her luminescent green eyes on him, questioning, "What is it like? Being blind?"  
  
"It's not so bad, once you get used to it . . ."  
  
"But you'll never get used to it, will you? Not since you know what it's like to see. . ." Jean slowly added, filling in where he had trailed off.  
  
"I spend every day wondering if I'll ever be able to see again, to see without killing someone in the process." He admitted slowly. "It's like one big power outage, everything is dark . . . for me, I just have my eyes closed. Can you imagine what that's like? I only have my eyes closed, I'm not permanently blind. I have to control this feeling . . . I know that if I really wanted to, I could open my eyes and see . . . but I know I can't. I'm always so afraid that one day I might just cave in, lose all my will power and just let lose . . ." Scott trailed off, amazed that what before now he could never put into words, he'd just admitted to a near stranger.  
  
"I know how you feel," Jean responded quietly, her hand finding Scott's and giving it a squeeze. "I don't have any control either, not yet anyways. I hear all these thoughts pouring into my mind, thoughts that I know aren't mine. Do you ever wonder what goes on in people's thoughts? Have you ever imagined some of the perverted feelings that bounce around in others' minds? I hear those perverted thoughts, every time I walk down the street. When I was at school, I could hear the thoughts of all my classmates, I knew they thought I was a freak . . . and it scared me, because I agreed with them."  
  
Scott regarded her with a renewed sort of amazement. He'd never understood the trauma Jean went through, he assumed she was always so quiet around him because she was a spoiled little girl who wanted to go home. He'd never guessed that all she wanted was a friend, and at that moment he knew, that a sort of connection had been made between him and Jean, he realized that things would never be the same around them again.  
  
"I guess we're just a pair of freaks, huh?" He smiled at her, and she laughingly agreed, resting her tired head on Scott's shoulder. And that's where Ororo found them once the power returned; two misunderstood teens, sharing in each others' pain, asleep in front of a laughing TV.  
  
*********************************************************************** 


	9. The Bonds of Friendship

A/N: Hey my lovely readers! Sorry it took so long for me to post this, but I was away on spring break, without internet access, and prior to that I had this major physics project due (who needs physics anyways?) and without X-men Evolution every other night (dang you cartoon network!!) I haven't been very inspired lately. Anyways, I hope you like this chapter! Feel free to review with any comments or suggestions!  
  
************************************************************************  
  
As time continued, Scott and Jean found they were on the way to becoming close friends. Each day, as Jean upheld her assignations with the Professor, Scott would disappear into the depths of the mansion with the elusive Logan. After their strenuous training, the two teens would meet again, either to relax or partake on some new endeavor of Jean's. Whatever they did it was always together. Though they had yet to truly confide in each other as true friends do, the night of the storm had created a bond between them – a bond of friendship so deep that not even the strongest hatred could break the hold.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Red hair curling in wisps around a face taut with concentration, Jean squeezed her glimmering eyes shut, attempting to break the hold the professor had on her frail mind. Beads of sweat clung to deep folds in her brow, swimming together to form tiny rivulets trickling throughout her frustrated visage.  
  
Gasping in effort, Jean's mind tried to writhe through the iron-clad encasing the Professor was holding against her telepathy. As her face contorted in a painful grimace, barely discernible objects began to rattle on the Professor's desk, slowly rising into the air, circling around the two telepaths' heads.  
  
Giving out a yelp of surprise as a tea cup beat against his forehead, Charles Xavier unintentionally dropped the bind incasing his young pupil's mind. As the pressure dropped from Jean's mind, the many objects fell with a resonant clang to the office floor.  
  
Watching the young girl panting from exertion, Xavier regarded Jean with concern. "I think that is enough for one day."  
  
Smiling weakly, Jean nodded in agreement before ushering herself out the door, leaving the Professor alone with his perturbed thoughts.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Half of an hour later, Jean Grey found herself standing once more before the Professor's closed office door, a look of perplexity clouding her face. She had spent the last thirty minutes tearing through the Institute, combing the grounds for any sign of her companion, but, to her dismay, had been unable to find the elusive Scott Summers.  
  
Elusive. Jean allowed herself a smile, thinking of how well the word described both her friend and his instructor. She had been shocked when Scott had mentioned that Logan hadn't taken to him as he evidently had to Jean; the two were so secretive, so silent, they appeared to have so much in common – Jean couldn't imagine why the two men (if you could call them that) didn't bask in each others' company.  
  
Tripping over her own feet as she tripped over the ideas occupying her mind, Jean found herself standing in the decorative hallway just outside hers and Scott's bedrooms. Furiously, she stretched her mind out, hoping to catch a glimmer of stray thoughts from her friend, but received nothing. Wherever Scott and Logan were they were either well shielded from her telepathy or too far for her mind to reach. Stomping her bare foot in aggravation, Jean turned on her heel and strode down the hall towards her room.  
  
"Jean? Is that you?" A curious voice questioned from the far end of the hall.  
  
Whirling around, Jean's fuming eyes landed on a disheveled Scott Summers – face glistening with sweat, bandage dropping lazily over his eyes – standing before a paneled wall signifying the end of the hallway.  
  
"How did you do that?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"You weren't there a minute ago!"  
  
Scott tensed, realizing his fault, before shrugging it off only serving to infuriate the redhead more.  
  
"Where were you? I've been through this entire mansion looking for you!"  
  
"Maybe you didn't look hard enough," he shrugged once more.  
  
"Maybe I didn't look hard enough?!? I bloody well looked hard enough! Unless you were training underground-"  
  
Scott winced, afraid Jean had discovered one of the Institute's many secrets, but as she continued rambling on he knew Jean had no idea how close she had been to hitting home. "Jean," he interrupted, cutting off her rant, "I'm sorry, alright? I was training with Logan, that's all. What did you need me for, anyhow?" He could almost feel the blush rising in Jean's cheeks as he asked. Without even seeing her, Scott could tell Jean was beautiful. The way her bell-like laughter rang out whenever she was amused was proof enough of that. She spoke as thought she were insecure, but not as though she knew the world was unsatisfied with her appearance, it was more as though she was unsure of what others would think of her. She didn't want to be a "freak", Scott knew that, and he couldn't help but admire her for abandoning her old life in order to learn about her mutation while still maintaining a fairly optimistic attitude – a feat that would have crushed any normal girl. In spite of what he world might think, Scott was positive that Jean was one of the few truly beautiful people out there – not only in appearance, but in her heart and soul as well.  
  
Jean placed her hands on her hips, sending Scott a scowl she knew he couldn't see. "I was looking for you because there is nothing else better to do around here." She stated defiantly. "I was merely looking to see if you wanted to join me outside, but if you're not interested-"  
  
"Whoa, slow down, who said I'm not interested?" He teased insolently.  
  
Jean had to restrain herself from flouncing off down the hall in a huff. "No one, but you're acting so, so-"  
  
"Immature?" he supplied.  
  
"YES!"  
  
Scot almost grinned at her exasperated tone, picturing her frustrated face in his mind. "Just give me ten minutes to shower and change and I'll meet you here, okay?"  
  
"Five, I think I've waited long enough."  
  
"Eight,"  
  
"Six,"  
  
"Seven,"  
  
"Done." Jean smiled, then gave Scott a telekinetic shove, ushering him to the shower.  
  
************************************************************************ 


End file.
